


Say What You Need To Say

by SlytherinHowl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, And a pit of endless denial, Daenerys is bad with feelings, F/M, Feelings Realization, I am so sorry, I should have finished this over a month ago, Jealousy, Mental Breakdown, Miscommunication, Some angst, but i didn't, for the exchange event, hooo hoo i finished it, look it's finally complete, playlists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinHowl/pseuds/SlytherinHowl
Summary: Jealousy, lift the veil from blinded eyes and let silent love sing its song, for the thread that binds them is stronger than earphone wires.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 97
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairytale_bliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytale_bliss/gifts).



> _Arrives at the party five hours late, with a cold pizza and a bottle of bad-quality tequila._
> 
> People say it's the thought that counts, right? I wanted to give a long and detailed explanation of why I couldn't finish this in time for the exchange, but long story short I froze. Completely. I just couldn't finish this in time if my life depended on it and for that I am really sorry. I really admire fairytale_bliss' writing and I just, sorta, freaked out? I am freaking out right now, because I know this is probably not what she had envisioned for her prompt involving jealousy and Dany realising her feelings and I don't like letting people down. However, I thought I should finish this, because what's the point of writing 5.5k words and not posting the story? So, fairytale_bliss, this would be your original gift. I hope it's not too bad, but if it is, at least you have rileypotter's pinch hit (and she's a total champ). 
> 
> As always, my thanks to @fanoftheknight and @queenlovett for putting up with me and my whining about this story and for polishing some of it off. Right, I'll shut up now.

Daenerys rises early in the morning almost every day. The damned alarm beeping incessantly and three desperate cats begging to be fed do the trick for her. She rises, but doesn't quite wake up, not in the first hour or so of being up, however many times the ambulance sirens on her bedside ring desperately, pleading for her to move her sleepy self out of the way and into the bright light of day. She's given up on setting one of her favourite songs up as an alarm after ruining too many of them forever. That is not to say music isn't part of her morning routine; It is, but the flat on the third floor of an otherwise unremarkable building save for its red door isn't the place for it. 

Daenerys drags herself out of bed and feeds the three Maine Coons before feeding herself. Today she won't take her freezing cold shower - and she's secretly glad for it. She hates the cold. Daenerys has been told in many union meetings that she is a dragon, all hot flame and sprawling wings, but she is proud to point out that she is a formidably well-behaved dragon - most of the time. Her students haven't seen her burst into flames for quite some time now and neither have most of her colleagues, partially due to her own efforts (hence the cold showers!) and partially to those of a distinguished bear who isn't afraid of her flames. Still, she is a dragon, and dragons hate the cold, so no early morning shower today. The bear in question always showers in the mornings, for his blond hair and his beard are always slightly wet. Daenerys likes her lemongrass cologne more than any other smell, but the bear's scent of wood and cinnamon is by far her second favourite scent. 

She shakes her head but smiles a little to herself. She must have dreamt of him. She wouldn't think of Jorah first thing in the morning if she hadn't. Daenerys thinks of him every morning, but he's not the first to come to her thoughts, _of course not!_ No, no, Jorah is a friend, he's a close friend. She loves her few friends dearly and they are often on her mind, of course, and Jorah is nothing but a friend. Yes, it was a dream of dragons and bears. A dream, smelling of burning cinnamon embers... 

A strong coffee is what she needs to shake off her dreams and focus on the reality of yet another Thursday, looking as indecisive as any other Thursday, not sure if it wants to be the weekend or not. _Thursday, what a concept!_ Daenerys thinks to herself with yet another smile as she changes into her work clothes. She doesn't quite enjoy the memes her students throw her way, but some stick as if to mock her. _Not so young anymore_. But she is young, or she will be, after her coffeemaker finishes making her strong brew. She only feels her youth again after she has had a warm cup of black liquid in her hands, smelling almost as nice as wood and cinnamon. Daenerys is content with her coffee, _just_ her coffee, as content as one can be on a Thursday before an entire day of teaching teenagers. 

Her students are sweet for the most part. Then there's Joffrey and his gang. While she never spat fire at any of her kids, the blonde brat and his snotty little friends have been the recipients of most of her smoke in the present school year. The other's complaints about Mathematics are understandable, she has once too found it hard to count to twenty, but Joffrey's constant whining wears her thin. She would much rather stay at home scratching Drogon’s fluffy ears than teach him for two periods. However, she has to work on that indecisive day to put food on Drogon’s bowl. Thursday, what a concept.

At least it's pleasantly cool when she ventures outside, after throwing many a longing glance towards her bed. The people are slowly exiting their caves and one by one, the shops on her street open. She passes them slowly on her way to the bus stop, the same route she takes every day to and from her school. Mr. Selmy, the florist with a kindly face, waves to her from behind his counter. Daenerys feels ashamed of herself for always letting his precious buds die, but he never stops trusting her with them. She likes that feeling of being trusted with something, even if it is as small as a rose. Jorah trusts her to be sitting by the window of the bus when he hops in, one earphone half-covered by her blonde hair and the other hanging from her shoulder, waiting for him. She trusts Jorah to take the plug from her with a small smile and sit beside her with his right thigh brushing her left. Once more she thinks of the blue-eyed man, but Daenerys doesn't dwell on it this time. Their bus has just arrived and she should be thinking of him and their journey to another Thursday. 

Her short journey alone is uneventful, as it always is this early. The time for music has finally come and she lets it wash over herself in a few last moments of peace before another day. She closes her eyes, her face pressed against the cold glass of the window, and only opens them again when the air is suddenly filled with wood and cinnamon. Jorah's smile is small, restrained, but it reaches his azure eyes. Her own smile widens a little. 

"Morning, Daenerys." He sits beside her and takes the proffered earphone just as he always does. 

"Morning, Jorah." 

"Had a hard time waking up today?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

"The Police, this early in the morning." 

"They're upbeat. Energetic," she says simply, laying her head on his shoulder. Jorah relaxes in her non-embrace and his own head rests against hers. 

"Just like you." 

"Don't know about that. I'd kill for another five minutes in bed today."

Jorah huffs amusedly and that signals the end of their short conversation. They're past the point of talking. Both crave the companionable silence the other can offer in those moments. Daenerys makes herself comfortable on his shoulder and her fingers brush his hand, but they don't quite hold on to it. She avoids letting her gaze slip to their touching thighs and their almost touching fingers. Jorah is her closest friend. She stares ahead.

Daenerys likes laying her head on his shoulder when they’re on the bus. The lull of the moving vehicle and of his steady breathing is almost enough to make her sleep a little longer, even when she should be awake before the morning classes. Jorah never stops her, not when they sit in the mornings nor when they inevitably have to stand in the late afternoons, he never fights her. In the many years of their friendship, Jorah made himself to be whatever she needed him to be, shield, sword, ladder, rock, headrest, even teddy bear when the night was dark and full of secrets and Daenerys had to pick the pieces of her broken heart. Jorah was there, crouching next to her and helping her glue them back together. Prickling his fingers and wiping the blood away before she noticed.

Her own bear, doing as she says, listening to her songs with hardly a grumble, even though he is much more of a folk fan than she could ever be. If there was one thing in her routine she would not change, it was her bus rides with Jorah to and from the school, spent in easy silence but for the tapping of their feet to the beat of whatever song they are listening to. Life could be better in general, her work could be easier and the people nicer, she could be with someone who loved her and she loved in return, but the bus rides every morning are moments of quiet joy she holds dear. If only Daenerys would look up instead of ahead when she lays her head on Jorah's shoulder, maybe she would find that someone looking down at her. If only... 

The bus comes to a halt at the stop in front of their school and the moment is lost, but neither wants to part, so they don't just yet. Shoulder to shoulder, Jorah and Daenerys hop off the bus connected by the short wire of her earphones. The older students won't even spare them challenging smiles anymore, but the younger children will give them bewildered or knowing looks. They all know better than to ask, having heard the spiel “it’s impolite to inquire about the personal lives of your teachers” countless times, but their innocent eyes can see that the connection between the two is stronger than earphone wires. It isn’t severed when they part, each going to their separate classrooms. At the end of the day, they’ll make their journey home together and maybe Daenerys' fingers will touch Jorah's. 

Daenerys wants to believe this Thursday has decided to be peaceful. The morning glides past her soundlessly and soon she’s in the staffroom, munching on her salad with her friend Missandei on one side and Jorah on the other. After so many years of leading their local teachers’ union, peaceful days still puzzle her, but Missy's soft voice describing the poem she’s reading with her Year Fives and the smell of cinnamon and wood beside her make Daenerys believe peace is actually an option. 

Her sense of peace isn’t disturbed quite yet, even as the bell rings and the teachers in the staffroom rise from their seats and make their ways to their lockers to get whatever is needed for another afternoon of teaching. Jorah is called outside and leaves her with a small smile as she’s getting up. Her locker is close to the door, in a narrow hallway that leads into the main room where the tables and the beaten-down sofas are. There is a small window on the door that lets the teachers see what the students outside are up to. It’s usually nothing more than childish jokes and shenanigans, but what she sees today makes her hot blood grow cold.

Margaery Tyrell enjoys grand statements and elements of surprise. Her cunning eyes are always searching where to strike. She fancies herself smarter than the rest and all those who challenge her queen-like position in the school feel the sting of her thorns. Daenerys can see right through the girl’s facade and that the young Tyrell cannot forgive, so she challenges her teacher at any given opportunity. At any other point in time, Daenerys would say she admires the girl’s nerves and ambition, but right now all she sees are Margaery's hands on Jorah's forearms and the inviting tilt of her head. Daenerys unknowingly rises to her bait as she strides out of the staffroom. 

She isn’t listening to music now, yet every step she takes feels like plucking a low and dangerous note on a bass string, the roots of a song filled with anger and accusations. Coming closer and closer, the dragon wakes in her as she listens to what the girl is saying to Jorah, a sultry and arrogant tone in her voice. 

“Surely there’s something I could do for you, Mr. Mormont, to replace that assignment. An oral exam, perhaps?” Margaery shifts her gaze to Daenerys, savouring her victory.  
“We’ll talk about that later, Margaery. Go now, the bell has rung,” he tells her with one of his soft smiles and Daenerys feels like exploding. 

“Thank you, Mr. Mormont. You know how eager to please I am.” The girl casts one last smug look at her teachers and leaves, swaying her hips like a cat. The dragon wakes fully and its violet eyes gleam with all the anger its rational side tries to hide. The eyes are the windows to the soul. 

“You should watch out for her, you wouldn't want a ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ situation, would you?" The words are out of Daenerys’ mouth in a rush of fire. Jorah's head snaps in her direction, all traces of his smile gone. 

“What are you implying, Daenerys? That I would take advantage of a student?” The words that came so easily to her in her moment of unbridled fury fail her now. “Answer me!”

“No! But, you know how slippery Margaery is!” She babbles and Jorah's smile becomes sardonic in a way that doesn’t become him. 

“If the problem is with her, why are you accusing _me_ of being a creep?”

“I’m not! I’m not accusing you of anything, Jorah! Just be careful of her little games or else you’ll end up in trouble.” 

“Do you think I am _that_ gullible?”

“Lynesse.” 

Suddenly, the bear who never fights her stands in front of her, roaring in hurt and anger at her careless words. His icy eyes freeze her flames in less than a second as the reality of her words dawns on her. Daenerys thinks he will strike her, yell at her, but Jorah turns on his heels and storms off. 

The illusion of a peaceful Thursday shatters before Daenerys' eyes. She feels the indignant rage building inside her, directed at Margaery, at Jorah, at herself. Couldn’t he see that Margaery was flirting with him? Why did he have to smile at her like that? Daenerys wanted to do nothing but protect him of a scandal, yet he pushed her away and not Margaery. She has never felt this angry at Jorah before, and why? Why didn’t she simply warn him of the girl’s intentions and carry on with her life, still living that peaceful Thursday she had woken up in? Why did she bring his ex-wife into this? Why did it affect her so much? Her thoughts are a swirling mess, with only one discernible word in the middle. 

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a blander, less interesting chapter, but I promise chapter 3 is a good one.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ Now she has to face Margaery’s class for two periods and the cunning brunette will certainly have told Joffrey and Sansa. She is fire made flesh when she gets to her classroom. Gendry and Podrick look at her with matching alarmed expressions in their youthful faces, but say nothing. Daenerys tries to smile at the two, but her eyes land on Joffrey’s mocking face and the curling of her lips turns into a grimace. 

“What’s wrong, Ms. Targaryen? Did you fight with your boyfriend?” The blonde boy asks with a derisive grin. Margaery’s eyes shine behind him and Sansa, with her usual sneer plastered on her face, mouths something close to ‘if she had one’. Daenerys doesn’t, much to Sansa’s blame. She doesn’t mind it as much nowadays and Jon is nothing but an unpleasant memory in the back of her mind. Still, the girl’s stinging remark does nothing to put out Daenerys’ fire. 

“My personal life is none of your concern, Joffrey,” she snarls and his mortified expression mildly amuses the silver-haired woman. The whole classroom falls into an eerie silence, satisfying Daenerys. “Now let’s all turn to page 394.” 

She realises her mistake a beat too late. Those students who were not terrified of her entrance a moment ago snicker not so discreetly at her unfortunate choice of words to announce a fortunate book page. On any other day, Daenerys would have embraced the role she put herself into with glee, swooping around the classroom and speaking in a dangerously low voice, but the glint in her violet eyes would light up her whole being after a while and she would share an earnest laugh with the kids. Today, however, she embraces the role with anger and the snickering youthful faces soon turn to their books, fearing that their teacher might actually turn into Severus Snape. 

The hours drag by her, each minute feeling like the last, until the moment that by the grace of a god or a saint, the bell rings. The students scurry out of it as fast as they can, leaving her alone with her ghosts. The fire that had been raging inside Daenerys left her blind to her surroundings and now the guilt creeps in slowly. She was mean to her kids and meaner still to Jorah. The prospect of apologising to both parts stings her pride, but any 'mea culpa' is less painful than the sizzling ashes mixed with the loneliness inside her. 

Daenerys trudges out of the classroom and into the staffroom to retrieve her belongings, but Jorah isn't there. Maybe he's at the bus stop already, waiting for her with a reproachful look on his handsome face (although Daenerys has a habit of swapping that adjective for whatever alternative that doesn't make her confront herself), but willing to let their altercation be nothing more than that. The thought calms Daenerys and even the notion of gingerly apologising to him doesn't seem so bad. 

The bus stop is crowded as always, but in the sea of tired faces, she can't find the one that would lift the weight on her shoulders. Every day he has been there, he has smiled at her at last, even after a much angrier fight, every day he's been the rock she used to build her castle with. Not today. Today she gets on the bus alone, with both earphones on her ears, trying to muffle her own thoughts with the sound of music, but the music is deafening. So many things she keeps hidden inside her run rampant in her head as the bus slowly makes its way to the suburban area she lives in, but in the cacophony inside her head, Jorah's voice rings the clearest in her ears. 

Nothing stops the ringing. The scalding shower she takes when she gets home dampens it, but she still feels it constricting her chest. The three needy cats and the bottle of wine she impulsively opens distract her for a while, but the ringing gets louder once her senses are numbed by the alcohol. She still tries very hard to let her righteous anger surface and to drown her guilt in the red liquid she drinks, but Daenerys is no fool. She knows she has accused her closest friend of something he would never dare to do, that she forged a dagger made of a single word and plunged it into his half-healed heart, but the memory of his smile at Margaery, her hands going up and down his forearms, the implications of her words, Daenerys remembers all that and she is aflame once more. _How dare she!_ Daenerys thinks sleepily, downing the rest of her third glass. How dare she try to sully Jorah's reputation like that, how dare she attempt to lure him into something horrible, how dare she intentionally pull Daenerys' bear away from her! 

All Daenerys wants is to protect her Jorah as he has always protected her. He is her friend, her best friend. She wants to bask in the warmth of his smiles. His smiles bring her such comfort. The way the corners of his lips pull up and his eyes soften, it warms her. Dragons love warmth. He is standing so close to her now, she can see his eyes thaw out and feel their mixed heat. One moment now and she will feel the comfort of his lips... 

BEEP BEEP! 

His lips fade. 

BEEP BEEP! 

His eyes freeze over. 

BEEP BEEP! 

The warmth is gone. 

“Fuck.” That is all Daenerys' brain can supply her with in the new morning. 

Her head is thumping and her back aches due to the horrible position she slept in. The day has hardly started, yet ‘fuck’ seems to set the mood quite accurately. The early Friday morning is a blur of automatic routine and one word repeating itself in Daenerys' mind. 

_Why?_

Why did she dream of him? Why was she so affected by yesterday’s events? Why did she miss him so on her way back home? 

Yesterday, she would have readily said ‘because he is my friend’, but today that answer leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Or maybe it’s the paracetamol washed down with black coffee. The taste doesn’t leave her as she trudges to the bus stop. Something tells her she won’t be riding along Jorah today, listening to music on her old earphones with short wires. She presses her face to the cold glass when she finally sits inside the bus, hoping for a whiff of wood and cinnamon to reach her nose. 

She is surprised, almost shocked, when it does. Jorah enters the bus at his stop, blond hair wet from a shower and smelling a bit more strongly of his woody aftershave. What captures Daenerys’ attention, though, are the two small wireless earbuds in his ears. He sits beside her without a word, but his side doesn’t brush hers. 

“Those are new,” she comments with a false air of levity. She should apologise. She should explain herself. She should apologise for the accusations and the low blow. Why can’t she do so? 

‘They’re better for running.” Neither is convinced this information is correct. A long moment of silence passes before Jorah places one of the buds on her thigh, careful not to brush his fingers against her trousers. “Is Beatles ok?” 

She nods stiffly and picks the bud up. The last notes of the joyful “Lovely Rita” play in her ear, but by the works of some nasty angel, “Yesterday” comes next and Daenerys yearns to lay her head on his shoulder and quietly watch the people and the buildings on their way. She said something wrong, now she longs for yesterday. 

But yesterday will never turn on its heels and grace her with its presence once more. More yesterdays pass and slowly Jorah and Daenerys sweep that Thursday under the rug, along with the many other things they never dared to discuss in their years of friendship. She keeps her pride intact, but her heart clenches a little whenever she hears Sting’s voice on the radio. Daenerys does much the same with the kids who were scorched by her fire; an “Always” joke, an apologetic smile and a weekend without homework do the trick for most of them, except Margaery, the little bitch, who keeps a victorious look on her face for weeks after the hallways incident. Life goes back to normal, but it is not yesterday. Jorah and Daenerys listen to music every day on their way to the school, but she doesn’t lay her head on his shoulder and he doesn’t quite look her in the eye. 

Missandei picks up on it, as she always does, and cocks her eyebrow at Daenerys whenever she and Jorah sit on opposite sides of the table at the staffroom. Daenerys finds that she can’t quite look her oldest friend in the eyes either. The two women have spent too much time with each other; their secrets are reflected in one another. Daenerys doesn’t want to see herself in Missandei’s brown eyes, so she avoids them too, much like she avoids anything that dares come a little too close to her heart. She is fine, her heart is fine. 

“We’re all good, aren’t we, boys? We don’t need him by our side, do we?” She asks the cats one night while they’re all bundled up around her. Their purring is the only answer she gets. 

She is not alone. Doreah still calls every now and then, so does Yara. She’s got Missandei and Grey. Viserys is rotting in a psychiatric hospital, but Rhaegar comes to visit her with his kids when he’s in town, and she’s got the best friends she could ask for in her furry children. People may laugh at her and mock her, but it is true. The cats understand her like no other being on this planet does. Perhaps one other being. No, no other. She is good. She is not alone. She’s fine. _Fine._

That night, Daenerys dreams she is the queen in a pyramid of an ancient city. In her dream, she casts Jorah aside with a wave of her hand, her power uncontested even by his sorrowful eyes, but as soon as the last of his heavy footsteps in heard in the great hall, the pyramid falls around her with a great thunderous noise, waking her from her slumber. Drogon has his cold nose pressed to her cheek and both Rhaegal and Viserion knead the flesh of her arm and ribs. 

“I’m fine,” she croaks to her babies, but they seem to sense her lack of conviction. “I’m fine.” 

She sings the words to herself like a mantra, _I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,_ so hard that she almost believes them. They make her fall into a dreamless sleep, or if she did dream, she doesn’t remember. She remembers the weight of the stone bricks of the pyramid and Jorah’s eyes. She remembers them as if it was yesterday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am more ok with how this chapter turned out than with the rest, maybe because it explores the jealousy aspect of what was supposed to have been my prompt for the exchange. Also, I've had my nose buried in _Pride and Prejudice_ for a few days now so the _yearning_ is strong with this one *cue to the hand flex scene in the 2005 movie*

Daenerys stops counting the yesterdays eventually and accepts the slightly greater distance, the new earpods and Zenyatta Mondatta on her list of albums she ruined for herself. Jorah... is resigned. It shouldn’t surprise Daenerys that he turns the other cheek to her, but it does. He should be angry, he should be away from her, but he’s not. He still stands beside her, looking down at her with a little more sorrow in his ever-longing eyes, but he stands, in what looks to anyone as a mix of blind adoration, religious penitence and masochism. 

So it goes day after day, until one bleak morning that Daenerys would surely have forgotten about, had reality not come to strike her in the face. She enters the staffroom almost mechanically, making her way to her concealed locker without a second thought. The rehearsed movements of her hands unlocking the small door come to a halt when she hears Missandei's startled cry.

"Tyrion! How the hell did you talk him into putting up a profile in a dating app?" Daenerys can feel Missy's outrage even though she cannot see anyone from her position in the narrow locker hallway. Of course it's Tyrion Lannister. The Political Science teacher isn't known for his subtlety nor for his ability to keep his mouth shut. Daenerys moulds herself to the wall of lockers, trying to hear what is being said.

"I'm just being the reasonable one, since you refuse to cooperate, Missandei! How much longer is Jorah going to humiliate himself because of your friend? He's not a bad-looking fellow, he can get a shag somewhere else."

"I don't want a _shag,_ Lannister." Jorah's tone is filled with cold indignation.

"Oh yes, you want unconditional and everlasting love. Too bad your princess is too busy looking at anyone else except her old, faithful knight. Wake up, Jorah! Daenerys is not gonna give it to you. Move on.” Tyrion’s dismissive tone hits Daenerys like a pile of bricks and she thinks back of their fight a few months prior, the guilt that burned in her chest and the dream she had of Jorah's lips on hers. Lannister is always right, but the one time he is wrong isn’t nearly as satisfying to Daenerys as she thought it would be.

“It might come as a surprise to you, since you do all your thinking with the smaller head, but not everything in this life is about sex, Lannister.” Daenerys can barely hear the words coming out of Jorah's mouth, but she knows they drip with a kind of poison very few people have ever experienced, at least coming from Jorah.

“Oh, but this is, Jorah. You want her. You want to have three children and a dog with her and you’re putting all of your hope to find love and happiness on someone who is gonna be just like Lynesse, but maybe a little bit worse, because at least you got into Lynesse’s pants, but Daenerys is just gonna keep blue-balling you until -" Tyrion’s satisfied speech is interrupted by a loud crack of flesh hitting flesh. Missandei yells something and Daenerys flinches, deciding she has had enough.

She unglues herself from the wall and grabs the first thing she can find on her locker, not even sure if that was what she meant to grab in the first place. Daenerys leaves the staffroom in a daze, hardly caring about the scratching noises the door makes or her hard footsteps. The smack to Tyrion's face might as well have been to her own. A school hallway, bustling with nosy students, isn't the best place to finally stop denying the love you feel for your friend of ten years, but this is exactly what Daenerys catches herself doing. Her breath hitches and her eyes threaten to water; _she loves Jorah._

She loves Jorah and she's hurt him.

The second conclusion is easier to reach than the first, but its impact on Daenerys is just as great. A hand to her forearm halts Daenerys and her revelation. Half of her fears who she might find, but the other half - the dragon half - swallows the tears and turns. Thankfully the eyes she meets do not have a blue hue, no, they're Missandei's soft brown eyes, framed by her crown of curls. The look of sympathy on her old friend's face verges on pity, but for once Daenerys can't bring herself to care.

"Have dinner at mine tonight?" Is less of a question and more of a request Daenerys can't refuse. Missandei most likely knows Daenerys was listening to her conversation with the men.

"I'll bring the wine."

"Good. See you later, then." With a final squeeze to Daenerys' hand, the two part ways. 

This time, Daenerys has the sense to hide the storm raging inside her behind a migraine and a sleepless night, so her students don’t ask many questions about her sour mood and she doesn’t let her inner dragon burn them to a crisp. The day started as one of those long ones, but before Daenerys comes to her senses, she’s standing at the crowded bus stop next to Jorah, as always, but his usual steady presence gives way to a nervousness unfamiliar to him. He probably knows she had been listening to his conversation with Tyrion and Missandei earlier. His shoulders are tense and his feet shuffle awkwardly and he doesn’t look Daenerys in the eye, but that should not surprise her. It has been a while since the last time she got lost in his soothing blue eyes. 

The bus is absolutely crowded and the two have to squeeze themselves in. They end up close to a window, her back almost pressed to his chest due to the lack of space. She is partially glad to be facing something other than him, but his hot, slightly laboured breath hitting her ear and neck in puffs does nothing to calm her nerves. Shivers ripple in her arms and something warm takes hold of her chest and belly. What if Daenerys kissed him? What if she made up for the wasted time right there on that bus? Would Jorah recoil and forever cut the thread that connects them or would he give in to her and devour her mouth with the same hunger she feels? 

Images of them tangled together flood her mind and the fire in her belly starts burning lower. Part of her mind still screams at her that he is her best friend and she shouldn't be harbouring such feelings for the man, but another part finally understands that she has _always_ wanted Jorah and her to be more than friends. All the times she leaned into him like nothing else mattered, all the brushing of their hands, all the long, earnest glances they ever shared are more than proof that Daenerys should have looked up and glued her lips to his a long, long time ago. 

She dares halfway into their journey home, just a little, after all, she is in a crowded bus and has to keep some kind of decency. Daenerys relaxes her shoulders and presses slightly against his broad chest. She doesn’t lay her head on his shoulder but molds her torso to his. The hand that is not holding onto the railing hovers close to his hand that inches slowly towards the top of her thigh. Both take a deep breath at the same time right when his fingers brush her hip and then almost scaredly sprawl out into her waist. His chest to her back, his nose so close to her ear, his hand snaking on her waist, all make her come alive in a surge of desire and determination. She will end this game of cat and mouse today. 

Daenerys turns her head slowly and catches a glimpse of his blue eyes, tremulous and tender. Holding his gaze is like luring a scared dog with a treat, a promise of a reward. Inching closer and closer, his fear dissipates and Daenerys is met with the strength of his affection, with his repressed yearning. Nothing exists but their mingled breaths, their honest eyes, their touching hands. Until something does. Someone presses the button to stop the bus and the illusion is shattered; Jorah sucks in a breath and pulls away from Daenerys, looking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“That’s my stop,” he says in a soft, dumbfounded voice. “Have a good weekend, Daenerys.” 

He dashes out of the bus without looking at her again when they finally come to a halt. Daenerys doesn’t register the outraged looks her fellow commuters shoot her way, only the empty space where Jorah stood mere moments ago. Seats vacate but she remains glued to her spot close to the window, watching the street lights pass her by. One word echoes in her head, a word that is familiar to her whenever she is forced to confront her feelings for Jorah, a word so simple and small yet so meaningful. 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some _Phantom of the Opera_ song lyrics hidden away here, can you spot them? Also, I really love Missandei. I'm not sure if her appearance here is enough to make that clear but _I really freaking love Missandei._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... back? With another chapter? Somehow I can't believe it that after what, three months (?) I managed to write this chapter. I guess the recent events worldwide have at least snapped me out of my stupour. That's a good thing, I hope. 
> 
> I don't know if this chapter warrants a trigger warning or not but there is some violence in it. I won't make any promises regarding when the next chapter will be written/posted, that depends on my Muse. The problem is, the Muse has taken to looking like either Florence Welch or Jodie Comer in the past weeks so whenever she comes around my reaction is just sjjsjdkjf _*flustered gay noises,*_ but hey, it's still pride month, I'll use that as an excuse. 
> 
> Many thanks to fanoftheknight for deciphering a ridiculous email I sent her at 2:30 AM and reading this first thing in the morning. You're the best <3

Daenerys doesn’t really know how she got home, took a shower, found a bottle of a surprisingly good Merlot in one of her cupboards and left home, but she did all those things, otherwise, she wouldn’t be standing on Missandei’s door right now. Grey, Missy’s stoic husband, opens the door with the same old unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes soften, and the corners of his mouth twist up when his dark eyes scan Daenerys' face. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss his friend on the cheek. The tension in Daenerys' shoulders eases a little as she kisses him back and takes in the familiar surroundings.  
Missy and Grey’s flat is effortlessly cool in its book-filled simplicity. Tidy and sober yet lived in, the small space feels like a hug to Daenerys and the twinkling fairy lights hung on the TV rack make her think of blue butterflies fluttering about. 

"Good, you're here," Missy says, coming from the kitchen. She has that soft but worried look on her face that Daenerys is so accustomed to, having often sported it herself. The troubles of being the 'mum friends'...

"Brought the wine, which I'll probably drink myself,” Daenerys says, half-hidden in her friend’s turtleneck. 

“Maybe we should have invited Tyrion.” Grey’s mortified expression makes both women share a laugh. The former soldier most definitely dislikes the small teacher.  
“Maybe not,” he grumbles. “I’ll go check the fish.” 

Grey’s exit is the excuse Daenerys needs to collapse on Missy’s weathered sofa. Her friend follows suit, watching her with those all-knowing eyes as she reaches for Daenerys' hand. 

“What’s got you looking so distressed?” 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” 

“Well... Is it?” 

Daenerys sighs. There’s no lying to Missandei. “Jorah... has a profile on a dating website?” 

“I think Tyrion stole his phone and set it up without Jorah's consent.” 

“Really?” 

“I don’t know, Daenerys.” A long moment of silence passes between them before Missandei speaks again. “Do you have a problem with it?” 

“No!”

“No?” Missandei asks and this time her usually pleasant tone takes on a condescending note. Daenerys knows that if Missandei is talking to her like that, it’s because her seemingly bottomless well of patience has finally run dry. 

“I nearly kissed him today,” Daenerys blurts out, to Missandei’s astonishment. 

“What? How?” 

“I heard you talking in the staffroom today and suddenly everything made sense, everything I’d been feeling ever since the fight -" 

“You never told me what happened in that fight. I know something happened because you two have been walking on eggshells around each other for months now, but I’ve heard nothing from either side.” 

“I was going to tell you about the almost-kiss.” 

“Start from the beginning.” 

Daenerys stops for a while and wonders of which beginning Missandei is talking about. The beginning of her feelings or the beginning of their fight? The beginning of it all? Daenerys decided that the probable beginning lies in Margaery Tyrell's cunning smile, so she tells Missandei how her peaceful Thursday had been filled with rage and bellowing noise when she saw the girl’s hands on Jorah's arms and how his usually placid eyes had frozen her to the spot. 

"It was all fine, Missy. I'd been keeping my feelings for him hidden away just fine, until one day I saw Margaery Tyrell flirting with him in the staffroom corridor. Now that I think of it I don't think he was flirting back but in that moment my brain went haywire and I... I confronted him about it, and I insinuated things that hurt him. Badly. The next day we acted as if nothing had happened, but the damage was done. I screwed up." 

"But you just told me you almost kissed him!" 

Daenerys' face probably contorts into a hilarious grimace as she feels the heat and the shame rising to her cheeks. Missy's frown - nearly identical to Grey's - dissolves into a grin.  
"What? Why are you laughing?" Daenerys asks, more confused than annoyed. 

"Your eyebrows are doing that weird thing they do," Missy replies in between giggles and Daenerys’ grunts. "For a short moment you looked like Fleabag in one of those fourth-wall breaks."

"Fleabag? Seriously? Are you saying I'm a mess?" 

"Of course you're not a mess. In fact, you'd have your life completely together if you weren't totally in denial about your feelings for Jorah _or_ if you hadn't tried to kiss him on public transport, which, let's be honest, is a _very_ Fleabag thing to do." 

Daenerys hangs her head and winces. "It was so surreal. He was breathing so close to my ear and I could feel the heat radiating off of him. It was sensual. It was... _arousing._ Far more arousing than two years with Jon could ever be." 

"Is this a bad moment to tell you two that dinner's been ready for five minutes now?" Grey asks, coming from the kitchen and startling the two women. Daenerys turns to him, expecting to see a scowl on his face, but he clearly looks like someone who's trying very hard not to laugh. 

"Ah, fuck. Sorry, Grey," Daenerys says while she and Missandei move from the sofa to the table. He waves a dismissive hand at his friend. "But I bet whatever you heard wasn't even the worst thing you ever heard from us." 

"Of course not. I had to suffer through you two going from My Chemical Romance to Lenin in the time span of four tequila shots when we were younger. And the eventual Molotov," he finishes with an acidic touch, but his lips are turned up. 

"That was _one time!_ You lot were shooting peaceful protesters!" Daenerys squeaks indignantly, talking about the time she threw a Molotov cocktail at an army tank during a protest. 

"Not me. I'd resigned a week prior and while you were setting things on fire I was -" 

"Saving me from tear gas and punching your former superiors in the army." Missandei finishes for her husband with a small smile, already digging into her fish. 

"Well... yeah." The three laugh and Daenerys pours them the wine that had been opened at some point. They sip their drink and eat in companionable silence for a while before Missandei rests her chin on her right hand and turns to Daenerys. "Was Jorah in the Molotov protest or did we meet him in the Teacher's Union later?"

"Yes, he was, but you two hadn't properly met him yet." Jorah was an acquaintance of Daenerys' older brother, so she'd seen him enough in her younger years to know that he was a man with a distaste for fights and conflicts, yet he marched beside her whenever she called, sometimes to support her cause, sometimes to go whispering to Rhaegar that she was being a rebellious youth again. 

Daenerys used to be furious when he did that. She stopped keeping track of how many times she told him to get lost and get away from her a long time ago, but he always made his way back to her and eventually they met in the middle. Daenerys got milder with age and Jorah less worried and both accepted the ongoing fight against injustice as one of the things that brought them together. 

"He shielded me from the water cannons that day," Daenerys says, swirling the wine in her glass. 

_Drogo was nowhere to be found. Daenerys felt the dread freezing her insides. "Was he fucking serious when he said he would die for the cause?" She asked herself. Maybe, but she would find that out later. Right now, she had to find Missy and **run**. All around her, she heard the noises of a peaceful protest-turned-nightmare. Broken glass crunched beneath her boots as she dashed among the frantic people. The grey smoke dulled the sunlight of the early afternoon and the sound of rubber bullets being fired filled her ears. People fell around her, staining the ground with their blood as the bullets hit them and they collapsed into the glass shards. _

_"Water cannons! They're launching the water cannons!" Someone shouted nearby._

_Daenerys stopped in her tracks and crouched, panting behind the red bandana covering her face, and looked ahead to where a line of cops blocked the street. "Fuck." She turned on her heels and faced the cannon. She saw the heavy spray moving fast towards her, closed her eyes and braced herself for the pressurised water that would hit her even if she laid low on the ground, but before it actually came, something blocked her from it. She opened her eyes to see Jorah's face contorted into a grimace as he took the full impact of the water spray that was meant for Daenerys. Whatever bastard was manning the cannon kept the spray on Jorah's back for what felt like an eternity, but the arms that braced Daenerys on either side never gave in. He only collapsed in an exhausted heap when the water no longer hit his back with thunderous noise._

_"You need to stop getting yourself in trouble, girl." His words were those of a man who had been there to chaperone Daenerys, but his eyes, filled with tears from the pain, showed how concerned he was about her. "I might not be there to help you next time."_

But he was. Again and again and again, Jorah was there to help Daenerys back to her feet when she could not get back up by herself. He'd been there for her through thick and thin and she couldn't even apologise to him properly, let alone utter the three dreaded words to him. 

"Ground Control to Major Tom!" Missy says, waving a hand in front of Daenerys. The blonde snaps out of her recollection and looks at her friends with a forlorn expression.  
"Do you two think I missed my shot with Jorah? Have I been leading him on for all these years?" 

"No, Daenerys. You don't owe him your love in exchange for his friendship. No woman does," Missy says earnestly. 

"Missandei is right. You don't owe him anything if you don't love him back, only if you do. You owe him an apology and an explanation, at least," Grey says and the two women look at him with awe written all over their features. He smiles a little before continuing. "Jorah taught me the real meaning of the word precious. Precious are the things that you don't let go." 

All of Grey's attention is turned to Missy and Daenerys smiles when he presses his lips to his wife's forehead. _Precious._ The word echoes in Daenerys' head and she tries not to think too much of Gollum as the syllables flash in her mind. The first syllable is deep blue and smells of cinnamon and wood. The second syllable feels like an old Bowie song playing between her left ear and a shoulder that is always willing to be a home to her head. How many songs to spell out one word? 

Daenerys opens her Spotify app and scrolls through her saved songs, expecting an answer to jump out in front of her. The song titles scream at her in defiance, daring her to articulate her feelings into a single melody, a difficult task, but she smirks at them. 

Daenerys has never been one to back down from a challenge.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOOOO IT'S SONGFIC TIME. It's 3:00 AM and I just finished this and DOBBY IS A FREE ELF. Seriously what the fuck writing this was such a ride. I hope you enjoy this last chapter of Daenerys being an OOC mess and me geeking out about the music I like. That's what this chapter is for, preaching the word of the Lord Florence and the Machine. 
> 
> Thank you for putting up with my shit. If you need me, I'll be over at the Killing Eve fandom screaming about murder wives. No, but seriously, thank you for reading this. The Jorleesi fandom is super chill and nice and I'm happy to have contributed to it. You guys rock.

"Take care, yeah? The night is dark," Missandei says with a mock-serious look on her face. 

“And full of terrors," Daenerys replies in the same sombre tone before giggling alongside Missandei and their shared history with a creepy red priestess and her messianic fever dreams. 

“Talk to him," Grey says as he opens the door to the Uber car that came to get Dany home. 

“Yes, sir!" Daenerys replies and salutes. The dirty look Grey shoots her is delightful. 

She gets into the car and her friends close the door, waving at her. Daenerys greets the driver politely and waves back until her friends are just small dots in the orange glow of the street lamps. Beneath the darkness, the night is bright orange. Eventually, a whiter flash of light coming from above catches Daenerys' eyes and she cranes her head up with a soft smile, thinking you can still see the moon from the city. It's just another window. The moon hides while Daenerys is left with a dry mouth. 

_I know that you're hiding, I know there's a part of you that I just cannot reach._

How is she to show herself to Jorah? Her previous resolution leaves her and she lets the orange darkness engulf her now that she's no longer in the warm space of her friends’ flat. The streets wind on themselves like a maze and Daenerys feels the urge to walk, to let her own feet take her home and not the wheels of some car. 

“You can actually drop me off here," Daenerys tells the driver once they pull around the corner right in front of her usual bus stop. 

“You sure, ma'am? It's dark, you know? Isn't it better if I take you all the way home?" The driver asks with a worried look on his face. 

“It's fine. Thank you for the concern," she tells him and hands him the money for the ride and a nice tip before exiting the car. He smiles in appreciation and drives away, leaving Daenerys alone in the large avenue, with only store signs to keep her company. 

She crosses the empty road slowly, drawn to the soft light coming from Mr Selmy's flower shop. Daenerys stops in front of the glass door and then she hears it. The theremin, followed by the piano. Not one low, desolated voice, but two. The French words spill out of Mr Selmy's mouth in a flurry of hurt and beauty, meeting Jacques Brel in his solitude. Alone with his flowers and his pain and his music - like Daenerys and Jorah, minus the flowers. Mr Selmy's voice seeps into Daenerys' heart and words fail her once more. She could not write a poem for Jorah if her life depended on it, but she could sing him songs of others and hope that the sound waves that leave her are the same ones that reach him. She has a feeling Mr Selmy's song came far too late and that prompts her to unglue herself from her spot and chase the one who is leaving her.

* * *

She gets home with her head buzzing from alcohol and realisations. Daenerys lets the cats clamber all over her legs, begging to be fed as soon as they spot their mother standing by the front door. She feeds them their wet food and moves toward her bookcase where her CDs and records are. She pulls a random CD out and looks at the cover. Backstreet Boys. She snorts and puts it back, knowing everyone has a dark musical past, but she doesn't feel like facing hers right now. 

The next one she pulls out is 'Be Here Now' by Oasis. She opens the CD and finds the photo she's been trying to find for ages now. Personally, Daenerys doesn't care much for the band, but some of her very limited good memories with Viserys involve their angry, petulant sound. The picture inside the CD case is of her and her brothers, taken in the summer of '98, four years after her parent's passing. She must have been twelve or thirteen, then. The three stand stiffly, uncomfortably, Viserys' hands were definitely gripping Daenerys' shoulders much too tightly and Rhaegar's smile is everything but genuine. Her younger counterpart stares at older Daenerys with those big, lost eyes she had as a child and she can't help but remember a song her mother used to sing to her, about a woman, dancing alone with her ghosts. 

She _could_ be alone for the rest of her life. In all frankness, Rhaegar and Viserys don't give two shits about her and she doesn't care much about them either. Missandei and Grey can only do so much. The cats are just cats. She could be alone, but she doesn't have to. Daenerys turns her CD player on, puts the CD inside, and skips all the way to the eighth track. 

_So don't go away, say what you say, but say that you'll stay, forever and a day in the time of my life, 'cause I need more time, yes, I need more time, just to make things right._

She listens to the song several times, sitting on the floor with her legs tucked under her. Daenerys then grabs her phone and opens the Spotify playlist she created while in Missandei's house. 

"From Me To You" by Daenerys Targaryen. Jorah likes their pre-Rubber Soul stuff, so it's only fair to use that song as a title. It's a pretty obvious title, Daenerys thinks, although the passing thought that her intentions might fly completely over Jorah's head scares her a little. What if she doesn't indicate precisely what she means to say? She suddenly remembers "When I'm Sixty Four," the cutest of all Beatles songs, and scrambles to her feet in a hunt for Sgt. Pepper's. 

It is nestled between "A Rush of Blood to the Head" and a Chilli Peppers CD she didn't know she owned. She pulls the Coldplay one out and of course it's the album with "The Scientist" in it. Appropriate, very much so, even if the remorseful tone in Chris Martin's voice hits a bit too close to home. 

_Questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart._

She needs to sleep, but she also needs to get those pesky feelings out of her chest and if she has to sit in front of her CD collection all night to curate a playlist that will tell Jorah, loud and clear, what a blind arse Daenerys has been all these years, so be it. 

She finds several other interesting albums, full of memories. A Jay-Z album Drogo gave her and she actually liked it. Her copy of "The Black Parade," signed by Gerard Way himself ( the 20-year-old Daenerys who waited for hours to get the CD signed was equal parts mortified to be listening to MCR and terribly infatuated with Way). Selections of songs she and Missandei would make for each other in their university years, all downloaded from _very legal_ websites. That green Ed Sheeran album that Daario thought would make Daenerys fall head of heels in love with him. Admittedly, it was fun to listen to the first time, but it soon got boring - like Daario. "Ghost In The Machine," by The Police. 

"Oh, come on, have I really ruined The Police for myself? I used to love them so much," she mutters to herself. 

She puts it on and granted, Jorah's face pops into her mind. She decides then to make peace with the band, and adds the second song of the album to her playlist. Most of the little things Jorah has done have been, indeed, magic. She adds "Wuthering Heights" because why not, "Wish You Were Here" for the heartfelt cliché (at least it's less cliché than "Love of my Life"), "Head Over Heels" when she catches herself remembering the excellent Tears for Fears concert she attended with Jorah and "Shrike," a song from Hozier's new album that she just bought. Some of her students introduced him to her and she ended up as in love with the tall forest man as her 16-year-old kids. 

_I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted, ah but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now._

She finds her "Heroes" vinyl record next to the Lion King soundtrack on a lower shelf. The black-and-white cover is worn out after many, many years of existence. It was Jorah's. He gave it to Daenerys when she returned from her exchange year in Berlin. 

"I was there when Bowie performed in West Berlin in 1987. I could hear the people on the other side of the wall singing along. It was magical, Daenerys. I wish you'd been my age when it happened, you would have loved it," he told her when he handed her the record, his eyes shining with longing, the same longing that would shine through whenever he looked at her in the years that followed. The same longing she feels now. Daenerys holds "Heroes" in one hand and "The Lion King" on the other, both such dear records to her. 

_It's enough for this restless warrior, just to be with you._

_Just for one day._

The playlist stares at her, almost complete. It's nearly forty minutes long, it should suffice, but there's something missing, there's something hiding from her. Daenerys gets up, stretches, and scans her collection yet again, until she pulls four CDs out of their hiding place. The four covers are very distinct and give off very different impressions, but one thing remains: the alluring redhead singer and her haunted face. She is another one that her students like to claim as belonging to their generation, but Daenerys knows better. She first saw Florence years ago, at some pub, jumping on the tiny stage with the energy only the high have, but her voice was a gift from God, a caress from a thundercloud and the then-young Maths teacher was sold. They both have some dragon in their souls. 

Daenerys loves the wide-eyed rawness of "Lungs" and the sensual opulence of "Ceremonials," but they will not help her today. She needs the reckoning of "How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful" and the honesty of "High As Hope" to come to terms with herself and with Jorah. Florence's eyes pierce Daenerys' soul in that black-and-white picture and her extended fingers call out to the blonde woman sitting alone at four in the morning, promising guidance. She could use the entire album to write Jorah her love letter, but she chooses "Caught," the underrated song, the filler song according to some, but not to Daenerys. She is caught, she forgets all that she's been taught. 

Daenerys then places the third album back with its siblings and is left with the youngest child of the bunch. The pastel colours of the cover do not fool her, she knows this album carries some of Florence's most painful lyrics. Daenerys knows what she is looking for, though. After almost forty minutes of recollecting, apologising, and trying to shake her skewed notions of love out, Florence looks up to the sky in the last song and sees the beauty in simplicity, in the soft, understated love of every day. Daenerys does too.

 _And it's hard to write about being happy, 'cause the older I get, I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject. And there would be no grand choirs to sing, no chorus could come in, about two people sitting doing nothing._

There. The poem Daenerys could never write is written. Now she stares at the playlist, this mix-and-match of confusing thoughts and feelings and so much love she kept hidden, so much love. It's five in the morning, she knows Jorah will wake up soon to go for a run, so she sends it like there's no tomorrow. 

Daenerys Targaryen [5:03 AM]: I made something for your morning runs... "From Me To You" by Daenerys Targaryen 

She releases the breath that she's been holding and the exhaustion catches up on her. Daenerys should tidy up all those scattered CDs and change into her pyjamas, but she can't. She shimmies out of her trousers and removes her bra on her way to her bed. Before long, she's sound asleep.

* * *

Daenerys wakes up and it's Saturday afternoon. She doesn't need to look at her phone to know it, but she does need her phone to know something else. Her feet slowly leave her bed and find the ground. There's a pang on the back of her head, whether from yesterday's wine or the anxiety Daenerys doesn't know. The walk to her living room feels like walking towards a prize, an empty throne ready for her claim, but the throne room is ominously quiet. So is her phone. 

Jorah. Last seen today at 3:37 PM. Her last message? Read today at 5:15 AM. 

Honestly, she kind of deserves to be left on read, but it shocks her nonetheless. She expected him to...to...she has no idea what she was expecting him to do. Daenerys expected Jorah to do something, but not that something. She drops to her sofa with a thud, ignoring the indignant stares her cats give her. One word dances in her mind, her old friend. 

_"Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck **FUCK** Jesus fUcKiNG CHRIST holy mother-FUCK! Fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit shiiiiiiit SHIIIIIIIIIT. I fucked up. I fucked up alright this time. I fucked up - I'm such an idiot, such an arrogant bitch how could I **assume** he would stop everything and come running back to me goddamnit FUCK. Fuck. **Fuck,** "_ says her mind. 

Daenerys was so sure Jorah would listen to the playlist over and over and over and eventually show up at her door with his big, blue puppy eyes and a moronic smile on his face that she completely overlooked the fact that he _might_ not do that. _Hasn't_ done that. _Will not_ do that. Her Florence-induced high from last night comes back to bite her in the arse. _Hubris is a bitch._

"I'm so fucking selfish," she tells no one, but Drogon meows at her. He's probably hungry. 

She feeds the cats in practiced, automatic motions. She is on the verge of a breakdown. Part of her wants to call Missandei and tell her friend how royally fucked Daenerys is, but another part decided that ice-cream is as good a lunch as she can get and watching _Mamma Mia!_ is about the best kind of entertainment there is. So she does. 

Daenerys Targaryen, 33 years-old, beloved teacher and activist, watches _Mamma Mia!_ seven times in 32 hours. 

"Fuck, Missandei was right. I have turned into fucking Fleabag. And because of a _man,_ no less," she mutters to herself after her seventh consecutive rewatch.

Tomorrow is Monday of all days, which means teaching and facing Jorah one way or another, so at least she has the decency of going back to her bed after a weekend of thrashing her body with ice-cream, Chinese take-out, _Mamma Mia!_ and white wine. When she's laying in her bed a little later, she is pretty sure she will have horrible dreams of Jorah humiliating her in public and ostracising her but she doesn't. Her brain decides to play nice and she sleeps like a rock.

* * *

The alarm rings desperately. Daenerys drags herself out of bed with one thing in mind. _"You've fucked up your one realistic shot at a fulfilling relationship, please don't fuck up your job."_ That she won't do. She takes a paracetamol just to be sure no hangover will rear its ugly head in while she's teaching, eats some oatmeal porridge with the strongest coffee her coffeemaker can make, and puts on some actual clothes after a quick (and very cold) shower. 

The walk to the bus stop is the same, although she is tempted to enter Mr Selmy's shop and cry on his shoulder for a while, but she hops in her bus quickly and takes a seat at the back. No music can distract her from the ever-growing sense of dread she's feeling. Daenerys places her head against the window and zones out. 

Usually, she would have noticed the smell of wood and cinnamon assaulting her nostrils when Jorah enters the bus, but not today. She completely forgets about his physical existence until she feels something in her ear. Daenerys jumps up from her nearly catatonic state to see him standing there, wet hair, blue eyes and phone in hand. She cannot react. Jorah smiles a little, adjusts the earplug in her ear and presses play, without sitting down. 

Daenerys has never heard the song he's playing. She cannot describe the upbeat song. In her mind, all she sees is yellow. His yellow hair and his yellow shirt in a hot yellow day. The warm yellow sound of guitars and mandolins. Van Gogh was onto something. 

Jorah sits down next to Daenerys and the song transitions into another, just as bright and yellow as the previous one. She is still too shocked to process the lyrics she's just heard. He unlocks his phone and nudges her until she's looking at the screen. In one corner she sees the dreaded dating app and her eyes widen. The smile he's been trying so hard to hide since that Saturday morning playlist blooms fully, like a sunflower. He deletes the app right in front of Daenerys' eyes and she looks up. She looks up and finds Jorah staring at her, like he's always been. 

"And every other lover in this city has got a song to sing, but none of them ring in my ears, Daenerys." 

The hands that were always brushing, but never taking hold of the other become one. Neither knows who moves forward first, but both do and the kiss feels like yellow confetti and fireworks exploding inside Daenerys. The other commuters look, but they don't care. Daenerys and Jorah only exit the bus because they have to, but they don't part. The wireless earplugs no longer separate them. The students no longer have to hide their knowing looks and their smirks, especially not Margaery Tyrell from her position propped against the school wall, smoking a cigarette even when she knows she's not allowed to. 

"Fucking finally! I was almost begging my grandmother to call you and give you a lesson, _Ms_ Targaryen." Her tone is as victoriously venomous as one would expect, and loud, too. Half the school turns to look. 

Daenerys looks at the children, then at Jorah, then at the little bitch who knowingly started it all, who starts chanting for a kiss. Both Daenerys and Jorah clean their throats and try to regain their authority over their students, but the chanting gets deafeningly loud and the two have nowhere to run. She turns to Jorah and her defeat is mirrored in his face. They kiss again and the students cheer as if England had just won the world cup. Margaery walks seductively towards them and makes a show of putting her hands on Jorah and getting dangerously close to Daenerys' ear. 

"You owe me one, _Dany._ " 

Daenerys should give her detention for being such an inappropriate brat and for calling her by her nickname. She should. 

"I know. Don't get cocky about it." Impossible. Cocky is Margaery's middle name. 

She looks at Jorah again and her mind empties itself, save from that one little word, but this time, it comes with a defeated but satisfied laugh, one that Jorah shares as they say it at the same time. 

"Ah, fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so all the songs _in the playlist_ have been named withing the chapter (except 'Don't Go Away', 'Can You Feel The Love Tonight' and 'Heroes' the song, but the album is there and the song is the album's namesake so I'm rambling it's there), but there are a few other songs that I mentioned: 
> 
> The first lyric in italics in the whole chapters is from 'Hiding' by, you guessed it, Florence and the Machine. _Hubris is a bitch_ is also by FATM, from a song called '100 Years.' The song Jorah plays for Dany is called 'She's Always Singing' by the Dear Hunters. It's from their yellow (ha! I bet you thought it was just a silly metaphor) EP and it's really lovely. 
> 
> The scene of Dany breaking down is heavily inspired by the last episode of the first season of Killing Eve and the first episode of the second season. If you've watched it, you know what I'm talking about. So many veggies, man. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading this thing all the way to the end. Florence Welch loves you.


End file.
